


Blood Omen, A Narration

by razielim



Series: Legacy of Kain, A Narration [1]
Category: Legacy of Kain
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razielim/pseuds/razielim
Summary: The nobleman Kain is murdered. Brought back from death to avenge himself, he finds that his fate is not so simple.





	Blood Omen, A Narration

**Author's Note:**

> The purpose of this fanfiction is to make the widely-beloved story of Legacy of Kain available as a "kick back and relax" fantasy novel to us as LoK fans and those who we wish to share the story with. I've tried my best to make sense of the story in a way that is at once accessible and captivating to new fans, while still faithful and enjoyable to old fans who may no longer have the consoles or simply the time to relive their favorite story as a game.
> 
> This telling of the story explains details and fills in gaps of character's motivations and thoughts where the original games do not. As such, despite my intentions to stay as accurate to canon's immutable facts as possible, I'm sure I've taken some liberties with interpretations, descriptions, and pacing. I would not have been able to write this in so much detail without the work of countless other fans — their wikis, scripts, let's plays, and maps — but using those resources is where my partnership with curative fandom ends. This work IS transformative, and if you came here looking for pure canon, please play the games or check out those resources.

_There is a Magical operation of maximum importance; the Initiation of a New Aeon.  
_ _When it becomes necessary to utter a Word, the whole Planet must be bathed in blood..._

 

* * *

 

Screams rang through the halls, all crying one name — "Malek!"

The vampire's onslaught was devastating.

The wizards who had been gathered there were both young and old, powerful and learned, but their strength and skill with magic could not withstand the brutality of a centuries-old vampire bent on vengeance. Vorador's first victim had been impaled from behind, taken by surprise, and he lay gasping his last breaths, his dimming eyes following the green beast in disbelief as it waded into their midst.

Vorador easily dodged the elemental spells flung at him in retaliation and killed a witch with an energy blast. Pivoting to his next adversary, he cast a _Blood Gout_ spell with a casual competence, cowing the remaining wizards out of their senses at the unspeakable gore the powerful spells caused. "Malek!" they continued to scream in their mindless cowardice, and Vorador began to laugh. How sweet their terror was!

"Call your dogs!" he cried. "They can feast on your corpses!"

Vorador's next _Gout_ spell hit a guardian as the old man tried to shrink away into the dark, and Vorador replenished his power on the lifeblood so forcefully torn from his still-beating heart. With another two swings of his sword, the deed was done.

All the present members of the Circle dead, Vorador moved to gaze upon the elevated scrying pool at the center of the room. The magic was slowly fading from its surface and the grisly picture it held had started to dim. This was what the wizards had been gazing upon when he had entered to have his revenge. Fields of spikes, a horizon of vampires impaled and left to rot in the sun. Pyres draped the sky with their smoke. What had that old fool said as he had gazed at this monstrosity, moments before Vorador ran him through?

_"The plague infecting our land is finished!"_

Plague. Vorador had a very different definition of that word. As far as he was concerned, the heart of Nosgoth's sickness was _here_ , in the Sarafan Stronghold, and he had just cut it out.

Vorador turned to face the door as heavy footsteps approached.

A desperate-looking man in armor barreled into the chamber, narrowly avoiding slipping on the spreading pools of blood. This was, of course, Malek, member and appointed protector of the Circle, finally arrived but far too late. Eyes burning with insensate rage, Malek stepped forward to search the room, axe raised in case the monster who had done this deed still lurked in the heavy shadows. The tall figure of Vorador shimmered into place behind him, and with a vicious backhand, knocked the protector down.

 

* * *

 

Malek stirred, pained all over.

Struggling to lift his aching head, he found himself undressed and bound to a wall in a shadowy chamber. His suit of armor was propped upright on a stand before him.

"You are awake," came the necromancer Mortanius's voice from the shadows. "We can begin."

"Begin what?" Malek asked his fellow Circle member, mouth parched and moving sluggishly. Dreadful memories of the slaughtered Circle members crashed over him as he recalled the circumstances that had heaved him into unconsciousness. He squirmed against his restraints as he took in the lit candles and the runes around the room.

Mortanius stepped out from the shadows, his familiar features unfriendly. As he drew near, flames sparked in his black eyes, reflecting the light of the sconces on either side of Malek but growing stronger. The flickering fire jumped to searing brightness until Malek could look upon Mortanius no longer and turned away.

"For failing the Circle, Malek of the Sarafan, you are hereby _damned_ ," spoke the necromancer in astonishingly powerful tones. "The pleasures of the flesh are no longer yours."

Blinding light exploded in Malek's vision, and then a searing pain all over. He tried to close his eyes and found himself unable to feel them at all. Screaming, confused, he lurched to one side and fell to the floor. Armor clattered loudly. Finally getting his feet under him, crawling his way up the stone wall for support, he looked wildly about the room. A skeleton hung bound to the wall, and Malek realized with a kind of spiritual nausea that mere moments ago, _those bones had been his own_. The armor that he now possessed stood hollow and cold, mercilessly echoing the slightest creaks...

"You have but one purpose, damned warrior," Mortanius said, walking to the door and gesturing that Malek should follow. His deep voice echoed and lingered in Malek’s helmet. "You will serve us for eternity."


End file.
